


The Portrait of the Artist

by FScottFitzgayerald



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: I was gonna tag this as something that had to do with history, M/M, but this thing is riddled with inaccuracies, so i'm sorry but a writer has to do what a writer has to do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FScottFitzgayerald/pseuds/FScottFitzgayerald
Summary: A (really) short piece I wrote for an English assignment consisting of the /super/ inaccurate story of The Arrow Collar man.





	The Portrait of the Artist

**1906**

Cigarette smoke streamed gently upwards from between Charles’ fingers. He leaned over the armrest of the wicker chair Joseph demanded he occupy as if to speak, but was quickly silenced.  
“Not a word, Charlie,” The artist began again, “You know how long it takes me to capture such lips at just the _right_ angle.” Charles leaned back and cocked an eyebrow at the older man. “Like I said - It’d go by a lot quicker if you put out that cigarette. I told you that five minutes ago.” Charles audibly sighed and obeyed.  
Joseph’s angular style made modeling sessions less free-flowing than what Charles’ original training prepared him for. The artist, who only ever painted for profit, ensured his commissioners that great time and care were put into each piece; marketing every stroke as if he individually calculated the position of every inclination his chisel-tipped brush fell. Charles detested the long hours, yet found great comfort within the walls of Joseph’s studio.  
After a final swipe of paint, Joseph sighed and placed the brush on the tray to the left of him. “All right, come take a look.” he called on Charles. Joseph watched with a loving gaze and Charles strode across the room with an unmatched flamboyance. His suit, Cluett made of course, enhanced his regal figure. “What do you think?” asked the artist.  
“Well,” Charles motioned towards his mouth before smiling cheekily “I don’t think you got the angle quite right.”  
“Oh don’t tempt me, you.” Joseph retorted as he took off his smock. “I think it’s done.”  
“Finally. I pray that means I can remove this godforsaken dress-collar now. I can hardly breathe.”  
“You better get used to wearing those. You know, the man at Arrow told me to have high hopes for this campaign.”  
“Really? I heard he was rather curt.”  
“Well, err, his secretary told me. And he’s a busy man, Charlie. He runs a vast enterprise capable of spreading _my_ work and _your_ image across the world. We should be grateful.” Charles grunted.  
“I still hate him”  
“Why on earth would you say that?” Joseph asked half-heartedly as he began to cap his paint tubes.  
“Well,” Charles said, preparing to light the fresh cigarette he held between his teeth, “For starters, he commissioned an artist who has no goddamn clue how to match the geometric excellence of my face.”

**1907**  
“Where are we going?”  
“I told you it’s a surprise.”  
“You know how I hate surprises.”  
Joseph took his eyes off the road and shot Charles a look. “Well, you won’t hate this one. I promise.” Silence followed Joseph’s weak reassurance as he began to drive closer to the city bursting with light. Though the sun began to set as they wove through the New York City’s newly-built brick buildings, and Joseph couldn’t help but note the twinge of excitement in the air. It was if they were children again, having just gone out to play. He turned to Charles.  
“What?”  
“You’re smiling.”  
“Is a man not allowed to smile? You’re killing me, J.C.”  
“No, it’s just,” Joseph couldn’t help but smile himself. He looked back at Charles and found himself lost in his eyes.  
To Joseph, Charles’ lips tasted faintly of cigarettes and hours spent laughing together in the studio. They were warm, warmer than any moment they had previously shared together. Joseph pulled away and let out a quick laugh. The scene in full couldn’t have lasted more than 10 seconds, as Joseph’s eyes were to be more legally wed to the road than his companion.  
“We’re here.” stated Joseph, still glowing, as he brought the car to a screeching halt just around the corner from the lights of Time Square.  
“Wh-”  
“Just follow me. Have I ever let you down before?” Joseph asked as he dismounted the vehicle.  
“Why yes, you have.”  
“Oh shut up, you.” Joseph instructed Charles to cover his eyes and accept the hand he extended forth to him. Charles obeyed and allowed himself to be pulled along by the older man.  
The walk had only gone on for a short while when Charles felt the gentle grasp of Joseph’s hand on his shoulder. He snapped his eyes open and saw the light that protruded through his fingers. Joseph slowly guided his hands away from his eyes, and beckoned towards the billboard before them.  
Charles’ near-godlike image radiated throughout Time Square, illuminating the faces of passerbys and admirers alike. “Do you like it?” Joseph demanded anxiously.  
Charles found himself unable to deliver a response. His own glow counteracted the immense light of his portrait. Originally commissioned as an advertisement, the image seemed to serve as more of a homage to the artist’s model than a marketing campaign. “This is what I’ll be remembered for: ‘Charles Beach looking rather dapper in his Cluett collar.’”  
Charles smiled and turned to him. “That’s not Charles Beach, love.”  
“Hmm?” Joseph pressed in a singsong voice, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder.  
“It’s the Arrow Collar Man.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again - this thing is /not/ historically accurate and I apologize for that.


End file.
